


The Wife and the Crow

by sqbr



Series: Marriage, friendship, love, and sex. Not neccesarily in that order. [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Gen, Pre-Canon, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqbr/pseuds/sqbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last meeting between Zevran and Isabela in Rivain, back when he was a crow and she was a smuggler's wife. No spoilers past Origins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wife and the Crow

Nasheeta had been planning for weeks: oh so casually asking about guard rotations, assiduously practicing her lockpicking skills, and surreptitiously packing her bags with everything she'd need for a life on the run. Her plan was perfect. And now that bastard Zevran Aranai had ruined _everything_.

"My husband will hear of this," said Nasheeta, trying to sound confident. This was difficult with his knife held to her throat.

"Oh will he now?" asked Zevran. It was dark, and she had her back to him, but she could just _imagine_ the cocky grin as he held her arms back and started to tie her wrists together. "And what will you tell him I wonder? That I interrupted you while you were preparing to run away, taking his life savings with you? I'm sure I would receive quite the reward for preventing your departure."

Shit.

"I can pay you," she said.

"With what, these stolen trinkets?" he said, jangling the sack of gold and jewels he'd just liberated from her. "But I already have them in my possession! And before you try your feminine wiles on me know that I am quite immune. You are a beautiful woman, dear lady, and I have quite enjoyed our time together, but I am on a schedule and letting you escape with your husband's gold would be most detrimental to my plans. Worry not, I mean you no harm." He turned her around and sat her down on a chair, looping the rope around the back before tying it across her stomach. "Not too tight, I hope? For an ordinary woman I would not go to so much trouble, but you are more dangerous than you look."

"Speak for yourself," she replied. "Or is there a reason for my husband's bodyguard to be sneaking around his treasury at night?" Stupid sexy Antivan, she should have _known_ noone that competent would be willing to work for Rayan in such a menial role without some ulterior motive. But no, she'd let herself be drawn in by his exotic colouring and amusing stories, not to mention the fact that he had actually seemed to _like_ her.

"I was following you," he said. "You do not survive as an assassin for long without developing instincts for when someone is up to something." As he spoke Nasheeta could just barely make out through the gloom that he was going around to all the chests she'd gone to so much trouble to unlock and putting the contents back inside. It was _painful_.

"An assassin?" she asked. Yes, that made sense. A happy thought occurred to her. "Oh, are you here to kill Rayan?"

"Perhaps," he said. "You do not sound so very upset at the possibility of becoming a widow."

She didn't dignify that with a response. He'd seen her life here, the way Rayan would fly into a rage whenever she "shamed" him by being anything but the perfect, submissive trophy wife, whether it was her provincial manners or smiling too much at one of his business associates. Being sold into marriage with a thuggish smuggler had turned out to be even less enjoyable than she'd expected. If it wasn't for her bevy of lovers she wasn't sure how she'd have managed to stay so cheerful.

She watched Zevran carefully. Rayan had found it amusing to let Zevran "train" her in self defense (as if any girl from Llomerryn didn't know how to defend themselves), but she'd always been careful not to appear too competent, so she'd never seen him in a real fight. Life with Rayan had increasingly become a game of careful watching and waiting and trying not to appear too clever, and she was going to have to use those same skills with Zevran. He was sneaky, she still couldn't believe he'd managed to catch her unawares, but she was pretty sure she was faster. The trick was going to be getting him close enough.

As it turned out he made things easy. Once the room had been restored to his satisfaction Zevran walked up to her and said "Now, my dear Nasheeta, I am truly sorry but I cannot risk you raising the alarm. And if I leave you tied up your dear husband will realise something is wrong and not go through with my plan." That didn't sound good. Zevran gave her an apologetic smile. "This may be a little unpleasant, but…"

Nasheeta didn't let him get to the end of his sentence. She had managed to saw through the ropes around her wrists with the sharpened edge of her bracelet (one of the few useful skills she'd learned from her father the thief) and she kicked out at him with her feet before untangling herself from the chair and running to the sideboard to grab what she hoped was a not entirely decorative set of daggers.

"Oh ho!" said Zevran. "Very good! I always knew you were not as helpless as you pretended to be." He ducked as a dagger embedded itself in the wall beside his head and she had to shift quickly to avoid his own blades. "But you know this is unnecessary, yes?" he continued, feinting towards her. "If you simply let me go about my business your husband will be dead and you will inherit _all_ of his gold. Well, whatever is left after certain business deals that I have been asked to make sure take place before his untimely demise."

"And I am supposed to trust you?" she said, retrieving the knives he'd just thrown from the wall and quickly glancing around the room for a better set of weapons. No luck, these would have to do. She went on the offensive, slashing towards him and ducking away quickly before he could retaliate. "You're an assassin. And you lied to me. Excuse me for not being comfortable being at your mercy."

"Such cynicism in one so young!" he said, a little breathless, trying to avoid her attacks. "And I can remember a few times when you didn't mind being at my mercy."

Nasheeta cornered him and he pushed back against her knives with his own. She _was_ quicker. Nasheeta pressed her advantage, and soon had one of Zevran's own scavenged knives pressed against his neck. Nasheeta grinned at him. Zevran smiled back, he seemed disturbingly untroubled. Looking at Zevran's face up close she couldn't help but remember seeing it under more pleasant circumstances and feel a certain residual affection. His pale skin was smooth under it's tattoos: for all his worldly talk Zevran couldn't be much older than she was. His pretty yellow hair was plastered to his face with sweat but she couldn't see any fear in his eyes, and Nasheeta wondered how many of of the tales he'd told her about his youth in Antiva had been true, and what sort of path had really led him to this job in Rivain. Well, it didn't matter, it wasn't like she was going to see him again.

"And what will you do with yourself once you have killed me and made your escape?" he asked, as calm as if they were discussing the weather over coffee.

"I was thinking of becoming a thief," she replied, cheerfully. "I'll go where I like, moving from place to place before anyone can catch me. There'll be noone telling me what to do, and as many pretty shiny things as I can steal. I'll change my name as well, I was thinking something foreign, like… Elizabeth or Isabela."

"Sounds nice," he said, looking a little wistful. She wondered what it must be like to be an assassin, from the resigned look in his eyes it wasn't much more fun than being a wife. "I'd offer to come with you, but the Antivan Crows do not take well to desertion. Well, that and you're going to kill me."

Nasheeta rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to _kill_ you Zevran," she said. "You might be a liar and a murder, but you were fun to have around, and I'm hardly overwhelmed by loyalty to my poor betrayed husband." She frowned. "I'm not sure what I _am_ going to do with you though."

He smiled wider. She didn't like the look of that expression, it spelled _trouble_.

"Well, now that we have had a chance for a nice little goodbye talk, allow me to make things easier for you, my dear _Isabela_ ," he said, shifting his body slightly. Was that something in his hands? She pressed the knife further against his neck but he just grinned. "You see, while you may be enviably swift on your feet, I also have some hidden talents. As I was trying to say earlier before you so rudely interrupted me, this may be a little unpleasant, but you should wake with no ill effects."

The last thing she could remember thinking before he blew some sort of bitter powder into her face was "where did that come from?". And then everything went black.

Nasheeta woke in her own bed to a splitting headache and the stink of stale wine. She was disturbed to realise that the smell was coming from her.

"You're awake!" said a voice. Nasheeta blinked blearily and opened her eyes only to be confronted by the face of her maid, Dalia. "Just barely," replied Nasheeta, trying use her hand to block out the sunlight streaming in through the window. How late was it?

Dalia looked even more miserable than Nasheeta felt. "Oh Mistress…" she said sadly. "I have such terrible news. I would have told you earlier, but you were…very soundly asleep."

"What is it?" asked Nasheeta, the events of the previous night feeling like a very distant and confusing blur. Had she been drinking? She _smelled_ like she'd been drinking.

"It's Master Rayan," said Dalia. "He's dead!"

" _Dead_?" What? Wait, now she remembered. _Zevran_. Then how had she…oh. The events of the previous night clicked into place. He must have set things up so she'd look drunk instead of drugged and noone would think anything was wrong. Sneaky bastard. Nasheeta felt a stab of fear in anticipation of Rayan's reaction if he thought she'd been drinking again, and then remembered cheerfully that he was dead. She decided she could forgive Zevran for the slight upon her honour.

"Yes, it's terrible," said Dalia. She looked significantly less cheerful at the thought of Rayan's death than Nasheeta might have expected, given what a terrible master he'd been, but perhaps she was just hiding it well. "Killed by his own bodyguard! He went to finalise that big Antivan order he's been working on, and the moment he'd signed the deeds and handed over the gold Zevran turned on him and then the lot of them ran off with the shipment! Milos says it was retaliation for some slight, but I think it's an awful shame. And here's you left with no husband and no money."

"Wait, no _money_?" said Nasheeta, sitting up. That bastard. She could have killed him and taken the gold, but no, she had to get sentimental.

"Uh…no. It was all tied up in the deal," said Dalia. She looked a little surprised by Nasheeta's priorities, but it wasn't her money that was missing. "That's what Milos says. He says you should sell off _The Siren's Call_ and use the coin to settle your debts, and then use what's left over as dowry to find a new husband. I mean, once you've had a chance to mourn of course, it must be…"

Nasheeta stopped paying attention to Dalia's misguided attempts to offer consolation. _The Siren's Call_. Rayan's ship. It was _hers_ now. Perhaps she would forgive Zevran after all. She sat back and considered the possibilities for a while.

After a few moments Nasheeta got out of bed and clapped Dalia cheerfully on the shoulders. "Draw me a bath and tell Milos he's fired," she said. "I'm going to be a pirate."

**Author's Note:**

> I was deliberately vague about the setting since Bioware can't seem to make their mind up about what Rivain is like and I'd prefer to avoid the story being too badly contradicted by later canon. I decided to use a mix of Greek and Arabic names since that seemed to be about right based on what little we know, but overall I hope none of it rings horribly false to anyone with a less shallow understanding of Mediterranean history and culture.


End file.
